The night stretched on in profound silence, with no hooting of owls to disturb the darkness, just the soft rustling of leaves in the wind. The cold wind carried the fragrance of the forest, as if nature itself was trying to calm the restless soul of the swordsman as he walked along a path of worn stones, leading him back to his home.

His eyes, intense and resolute, were fixed on the distant horizon. As he approached the only house in that isolated region, Masahiro remembered his wife and son. The swordsman had returned from a mission, and the expectation of seeing his family again was almost unbearable. He couldn't deny how much he missed training his son, messing up his hair and calling him "brat". Although the relationship with his wife was different, the longing was intensely similar; After all, he couldn't wait to hug his wife, smell her addictive perfume and enjoy her presence, which made all the difference for someone as rude and harsh as Masahiro.

Masahiro never imagined that one day he would have a family he could call his own. He had such a disturbed childhood, such a dangerous life that many people were afraid to get close, until you entered his life and took control of the situation. It was so sudden that it seemed deliberate; a healer who had a lot of trouble taking care of a brutal, disrespectful swordsman and, to make matters worse, a pervert. Her stubbornness was admirable, consequently arousing the interest of the swordsman, who years later asked her to marry him.

"Finally," Masahiro whispered, pushing the door without delicacy to enter the house, being able to hear the soft laugh of Takeo, his son, who, on impulse, ran to grab one of his legs. Masahiro squatted down, ruffling the boy's hair. Then he stood up and approached you. With both hands, he cupped your face, gently lifting it to look you in the eyes. Then, with a soft gesture, he sealed that moment with a tender kiss on you forehead.